VII: The Werewolf Rage and the Dark Secrets of the Kitchen
“Lucy,” Whitey called out. “Have you met Panther yet?”.
“No,” I said. “I saw her talking to Panzer”.
“She is Panzer’s twin sister,” Whitey explained.
“Oh yes, now I see it,” I said. “You look exactly like her”.
“Most boy-cats think I am better looking—or so they say,” Panther meowed. “I’m so sorry about your sister. I was hoping she would team up with me for the competition, but she chose you… and now she’s dead”.
“Are you staying for dinner, Panther?” I asked.
“Oh yes,” Panther replied. “I could eat three mice. I’m starving”.
Dinner with the Fuhrer is always unpredictable. He had told me he was a werewolf, but I didn’t really know what that meant until dinner this night with Whitey and Panther. The Fuhrer took one bite of his soup and all hell broke loose.
“What the hell is this?” Adolf screamed. “Who the hell put meat in my soup? Everyone knows I don’t eat meat!”.
The cook was standing right in front of him. Suddenly, Hitler’s body expanded to at least twice its size, ripping his clothes. He pounced on the cook, leaving only a shattering of what had started out as a man. He carefully looked at each of us in the room as if deciding whether or not we should die.
When his eyes met mine, they turned from evil to a glimpse of goodwill. He spent the longest time looking at Whitey before running out of the room.
“Oh my god, Lucy,” Whitey gasped. “I think he wanted to kill you for a second”.
“Me?” I asked. “I thought it was you he wanted to kill! I think killing the cook took a lot out of him, and he didn’t feel up to chasing cats around the house—because I sure as hell was ready to run”.
“Well, we might as well all eat,” Whitey said. “I hate to see this good cat food go to waste”.
“For sure, Whitey,” I agreed. “Hitler has the best cat food in the world—definitely number one”.
“You think so, Lucy?” Panther asked.
“Yes, I’ve been to a few places and this is the best ever,” I said.
“I guess you’re right,” Panther replied. “I just didn’t want to believe those rumors that the cat food was made from prisoners who died of torture”.
“How can you say that, Panther?” Whitey scolded. “What kind of host do you think I am? I only serve the best cat food”.
“How is Hitler going to eat, Whitey?” I asked. “He killed his cook”.
“Not his first-string cook,” Whitey explained. “The main cook is on vacation. This guy was a fill-in. Every cook I’ve ever seen here knew Hitler was a vegetarian. This guy was the first who didn’t know. He was also the most dark-skinned cook I have ever seen cooking for the Fuhrer—I swear he looked black”.
“Really? You think that is why Hitler killed him? Is Hitler a racist?” I asked.
“Of course, Lucy,” Whitey said. “Hitler is the definition of a racist”.
The next morning at 11 AM, Adolf appeared. “Good morning, Lucy. I hope I wasn’t too rude yesterday. It is just that I truly believe that cook did that purposefully. I should have known that a nigger could not be trusted, even in the year 2025”.
“Oh, I knew he was dark-skinned for this neighborhood, but I didn’t think he was black, per se,” I said.
“No, Lucy, he was a nigger—a nigger who tried to kill me, by the way,” Adolf insisted.
“I thought of him as a dark-skinned Italian,” I said.
“And what is a dark-skinned Italian other than a nigger?” Adolf replied.
“Oh, I just thought the Nazis were better off focusing on addition rather than subtraction,” I suggested.
“It was a close call either way,” Adolf said. “But I wasn’t in the mood for close calls; I demanded perfection and got the opposite. Lately, I am feeling more tense because of the coming summer campaign against the Vampire Jews. We must be successful immediately; I don’t seem to do as well in long-term conflicts”.
Hitler is a “heavy petter,” meaning he puts a lot of physical pressure on whoever he is petting. Whitey noticed it too; he was the heaviest petter she knew. It’s an acquired taste and made me a little uncomfortable and tense, but what can you do?. I wasn’t excited about jumping into his lap, but how else would I get good conversation for my job as a C.I.A. agent?. Sometimes being a C.I.A. agent is no fun.
Last night was a first: I was in Hitler’s bed. Whitey insisted, as she is very persuasive. I found myself purring for the first time while sleeping next to him. Since purring is the ultimate expression of contentment, I wondered what that meant. My initial feelings of fear have vanished, but I shouldn’t put too much into it.
“Lucy, how was your night?” Adolf asked the next morning.
“It was great, Mein Fuhrer,” I replied. “I noticed you seemed to be having an intense dream”.
“Yes, I dream quite often, and it is not always a good experience,” Adolf admitted.
“What were you dreaming about?” I asked.
“I used to be in love, but love does not usually end well for me,” Adolf said. “The first love of my life committed suicide. Turns out she was very selfish and didn’t care what her weakness would do to me. She almost ruined me”.
“Did you give up on love after that?” I asked.
“No, I fell in love again, but she was unfaithful to me, having an affair with my most important assistant in fighting the war,” Adolf said.
“What was her name?” I asked.
“I never mention her name, Lucy,” Adolf said. “I made her swallow poison right before I fled Berlin. I married her right before I killed her; I thought there was a certain evil righteousness to that. She had to pay for being unfaithful, like the rest of Germany”.
“And then you fled Germany?” I asked.
“Yes, that is when I came to Transylvania,” Adolf explained. “We burned one of my body-doubles with her body to trick the Allies into thinking I was dead”.
“But what about the teeth?” I asked. “The Russians said the teeth they found matched yours and confirmed it with your dentist”.
“Yes, well, I thought of that too,” Adolf chuckled. “My most believable stand-in had to go through an extensive dental program so our teeth were almost exactly the same. Plus, once you burn the body, it doesn’t have to be exact”.
“Wow,” I said. “You did think of everything”